A Few Too Many
by Kissman
Summary: Carson. Hughes. A bottle of vodka...


**A/N I had a terrible day so I whipped this up to cheer myself up. Pure (drunken) Chelsie silliness from here on out.**

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_June 1924_

"Two whole days early, how on earth did you manage that?" Elsie Hughes voice rang merrily through the evening air. She had been fortunate enough to hear the car come up the drive and was there to meet Mr. Carson and the others as they arrived home from London.

"Just worked out that way I suppose," smiled the butler, pulling his bags from the car. "You are a sight for sore eyes Mrs. Hughes."

She blushed at the compliment. It had been months since she'd seen him and she couldn't have been more delighted that this day had come earlier than expected.

"I'm not sure we've dinner to feed you," she said, thinking of the meagre supper waiting for then downstairs, "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

"They ate on the train," he informed her, waving to the footman unloading the luggage. "I've a mind to send them to bed early, they're dead tired I'm afraid."

"I hope you are not too tired Mr. Carson, it would be a shame to break tradition."

They had a standing arrangement to meet for wine the first evening he returned from the Season. It was always one of their best chats after months of being forced to speak only through letters.

"I'll see you later," he assured her, hoisting the case over his shoulder.

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"I've something a little different tonight, if you don't mind me bending tradition."

"Oh?" It was their custom to crack open a new bottle of red wine the night he came back from the Season. A new bottle to come home to he'd said. This time he pulled a bottle of clear liquid from behind his back.

"It was a gift from a Russian friend of his Lordship, a whole case of them actually. I don't think he cared for it much, for he'd given it all away by the time we left."

"I didn't know his Lordship had Russian friends," said Elsie, inspecting the bottle. "Liquor?"

"Vodka," he confirmed. "What say you?"

He held the bottle up, not willing to open it without her express approval.

"I say lucky us," she said, feeling remarkably adventurous. She'd never had vodka before, but if it was anything like scotch she thought might like it.

He smiled, evidently pleased and poured a good measure into each of the glasses on the side table. She picked up her tumbler and swirled the liquid around.

"Cheers Mrs. Hughes." They raised their glasses and took a deep drink in unison. Then, also in unison, they spat it out.

"Good heavens, it's dreadful!" Elsie sputtered, the sharp taste burning her mouth. Perhaps starting with such a large amount had been a mistake.

Charles hid his coughing behind his hand. "I quite agree. I'm sorry Mrs. Hughes, I probably should have tasted it first." Charles was thoroughly embarrassed at serving her something so unpleasant. "I suppose I ought to fetch a bottle from the cellar."

A marvellous idea occurred to her. "Not just yet. Wait here, I'll be right back." She dashed out of the room leaving him quite perplexed.

She reappeared a moment later bearing a large jug.

"What's that?" he asked, frowning.

"Orange juice," she replied cheerfully. "We ended up with about eight gallons of it in the last shipment despite that fact that only her Ladyship really drinks it. Daisy's taken to leaving several jugs of it in the larder for the staff in an effort to get rid of it before it spoils."

"And what exactly do you propose to do with it?"

She feigned shock, "Mr. Carson, I assumed you were familiar with a cocktail. Isn't knowing the latest in drinks supposed to be your prerogative?"

He laughed at her dramatic delivery. "I'm familiar with the concept Mrs. Hughes, but I'm certain that not even in London anyone is drinking liquor and orange juice."

"Call me creative," she said as she poured the juice into their glasses, effectively smothering the offending liquor.

He didn't see the harm in trying it. She seemed in rather high spirits so her humoured her and took a sip.

"Mmmm," a low noise of appreciation escaped his throat. It was actually quite nice mixed together. Somehow the two flavours balanced each other out and the effect was quite lovely.

Elsie was surprised to find her little experiment had worked. "That's not half bad," she remarked, having tasted her own.

"An inspired choice Mrs. Hughes," said Charles, raising his glass to her.

Pleased that he liked it she beamed at him over her glass. She took another large sip. It went down easily now and she quite liked it.

"So, how was the journey?"

"As frightful as it always is," he smiled. He always said that, even the smoothest journey to and from was a dreadful one when hauling all that luggage. Now that he was home he wasn't all too concerned by it.

They talked easily, as if they'd never been apart. It was always like this. Every year he wondered if he would come back to find her changed, but he never did. They alternated between pouring juice and vodka in each other's glasses at regular intervals. It was fun to have something different and Elsie quickly stopped trying to keep track of how much he had poured her.

An hour later they had made a good dent in the bottle. Both of them were relaxed back in their chairs, delighting in the lovely concoction and the even lovelier conversation.

"We are going to need more juice soon," Charles remarked, gesturing at the near-empty jug. Elsie moved to get up but Charles stopped her. "I'll get it," he offered, "the larder?"

She nodded, giving a great sigh as he disappeared from the room. It was so wonderful to see him again. She always missed him terribly when he was away. Certainly more than she ought to, given their professional relationship, but she didn't dwell on it too much. _Sometimes it's okay to just be_, she thought to herself.

He hadn't realized quite how intoxicated he was until he'd gotten up out of his chair. There was a familiar tingling in his ears that he'd not felt in a long while. It wasn't too bad he figured; he probably wouldn't even feel it in the morning.

Oh how very wrong he was.

He returned promptly with the juice jug and triumphantly held it aloft. "Care for another Mrs. Hughes?"

"I'm in, if you are Mr. Carson." she said. It had been so long since she'd had the pleasure of his company and she didn't want the evening to end. He poured more juice into her glass, slopping a little bit on the floor as he went.

"Oh Mrs. Hughes I'm terribly sorry." Spilling something was a capital offence in his line of work. How careless!

"Never mind it now, we'll get a bucket and clean it up properly later." She couldn't have cared less, though she did privately smile at how flustered he was about it. She reached over and poured a healthy measure of vodka into his glass.

"Have a drink and don't let it fuss you," she instructed, pushing the glass into his hands. He obliged, having no desire to drag out a bucket of water now. There wasn't that much spilled anyways, it wouldn't matter. It still bothered him though, whether he wanted it to or not. It was in his nature to be bothered by such things.

Elsie noticed his furrowed brow as he tried not to look at the puddle of juice on the floor. Even late at night, in the privacy of his pantry he was still always going to be the butler. It made her a little sad.

"Do you think you were destined to wind up in service Mr. Carson?" she asked pensively.

"I don't know about destined," he said slowly, "maybe more so than some because I started so young."

Elsie nodded and he continued, "You don't think you were destined for this do you? I always got the impression this was your choice."

"It was," she wasn't sure how they'd gotten onto such a heavy subject. She'd started she supposed. "But sometimes it's nice to fantasize about being a different person."

He studied her carefully now. "Really?" he asked, "Do you ever wish that life had been different? That you hadn't chosen service?"

Elsie sighed dramatically. "I feel like we've had this conversation before."

Charles was unmoved. "So, let's have it again."

"Fine. I wish I'd been a fisherman's wife and spent my life shucking oysters," she said rolling her eyes at him. "Happy?"

Charles grinned at the image of her, barefoot on the beach brandishing an oyster knife. "You've not answered my question honestly," he pointed out.

"Who says?" she teased, her eyes lighting up, "for all you know none of the fishermen would have me and I was forced to settle for service."

Charles took a deep swig of his drink and threw caution into the wind. "Mrs. Hughes you could have married anyone in the village if you'd wanted to. Anyone in the world I reckon."

"Charles Carson, what an absolutely ridiculous thing to say." Why did he have to flatter her so? It made her feel all mixed up inside, all giddy, nervous, and terrified at the same time.

"It's not," he mumbled. The bottle was more than two thirds empty and it was starting to have quite the effect on both of them. "Mrs. Hughes you….you are a beautiful woman."

She was flabbergasted, and very lightheaded. "You think that?" she said, unable to wrap her head around such news. She'd never realized he'd thought of her as beautiful. What a very lovely thought.

"I have ALWAYS thought that," he insisted. "Thought that you were too pretty for words." His own words were starting to slur together. All traces of the normally ridged and proper butler had almost entirely disappeared. He was completely out of sorts and didn't care in the slightest.

"Mr. Carson that is…" Familiar? Discourteous? Inappropriate? "The nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

As he stared at her sitting across the table from him in the glow of the kerosene light it struck him that she'd never looked lovelier.

"If I wasn't the butler I would tell you that every day." The liquor had made him bold, far bolder than either of them had thought possible. Somewhere in the back of his mind he worried that she was going to be terribly offended by his words, but it didn't stop him from saying them.

A mischievous smile spread across Elsie's face. "Let's pretend we're not," she said impishly.

"What?" He didn't quite follow.

"Let's pretend we're not the housekeeper and the butler. Let's pretend we're…Elsie and Charles."

He didn't know what that was to mean but he quite liked the sound of it. "What do Elsie and Charles do?" he asked her.

She hadn't thought it through this far. "I don't know. What could we do if we were simply Elsie and Charles?"

Charles eyes glinted with an idea. "Well," he said slowly, drawing out the word as long as possible. "I can think one thing."

Suddenly he was on his feet offering her his hand. "They could dance," he grinned at her. "The housekeeper and the butler never dance together. But Elsie and Charles could dance."

She grinned sloppily back at him and took his hand. He pulled her to her feet and she felt the room spin. Goodness, she was dizzy. She hadn't realized exactly how inebriated she was until she struggled to get her balance. He held her tightly to him in an effort to prevent her from falling right over.

"I think we may have over indulged Mr. Carson," she giggled. As a rule Elsie Hughes did not giggle, but she certainly did then.

"I think you might be right," he replied, "But I'm Charles remember?"

She grinned up at him. "Right. Charles."

_Gods she is wonderful_, thought Charles_._ She was ever so close to him. Much too close. He could smell her sweet perfume as he breathed in. It was heavenly.

"We've forgotten the music," she said as they swayed gently back and forth on the spot.

"Elsie and Charles don't need music," he countered.

She rested her head against his chest as they moved to the melody of an imaginary song. Vaguely Elsie wondered if this wasn't all horribly inappropriate, but the thought slipped away. There was no propriety or impropriety here. No rules, no duties, no anything. Just Charles and Elsie. She was completely unable to focus on anything but him. His arms were probably the only thing keeping her upright and that was just fine with her.

"Elsie?" his voice pulled her out of her thoughts and she tilted her head to look at him. He smiled as her blue eyes met his warm brown ones. One look from her and he was lost, never to be found again. She felt so natural in his arms, like she had always been meant to be there. She was Mrs. Hughes no more, just Elsie. With this final barrier tossed aside he cupped her chin and guided her lips to his.

It was sloppy and uncoordinated and so much less than the first kiss he thought she deserved, but it didn't matter. A wave of happiness washed over her as his lips crushed against hers. She felt inordinately dizzy now, but this time it wasn't the alcohol.

He must have felt it to because they stumbled backwards. Suddenly they both had two left feet and tumbled to the ground in a heap.

"Elsie are you alright?" his voice was filled with concern. Some how she'd ended up sprawled underneath him and he hurried to disentangle them. He would never forgive himself if he'd hurt her.

He needn't have worried. Elsie rolled over onto her back, positively breathless with laughter.

"Good Lord woman you frightened me," he exclaimed. Elsie laughed even harder and Charles soon joined in, unable to resist her merriment.

"Look at the state of us," she slurred, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, "we are a right mess." She climbed into his lap, clutching at his shirt to steady herself. He gazed at her in delight, completely unable to understand how they'd gotten to this ridiculous, hysterical place.

"Charles?" she said turning towards him.

"Yes?" he said breathlessly.

"I think you better kiss me again. That last one was rudely interrupted."

He smiled and was more than happy to oblige her. She tasted like orange juice and he ran his fingers through her hair as he gradually pulled her closer to him. It was far easier to kiss her now with her sitting in his lap than it had been standing up. Charles had never been so grateful to be sitting on a cold wooden floor in all his life. She slipped her hands underneath his jacket, fingers trailing over his chest. She let herself become lost in his kisses, a picture of unadulterated bliss.

How long they carried on like this was hard to say. Eventually the alcohol made them weary and they nodded off to sleep, her head lolling on his shoulder, his arms wrapped fiercely around her waist.

If anyone had looked in on them, they would have thought they looked mighty uncomfortable lying on the floor like that. Come morning perhaps Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes would come to regret the unusual sleeping arrangement, but at the time Charles and Elsie could not have been happier.

_Fin._

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**A/N The first recorded mention of cocktails was in a British newspaper in 1798 but the concept of a screwdriver (by that name a least) wasn't documented until 1949. It's possible they weren't invented in 1924, or possible that it simply wasn't called that, but either way vodka was not a popular drink at the time by anyone's estimation.**

**I hope you enjoyed my silly story. I'd love a review if you are so inclined. :) **


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